


Field Trip

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drama, Gen, Prompt Fic, angsty, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It remains unclear which is worse, a zombie encounter or Lydia's anger.</p><p>Based on the prompt <i>Any Fandom – Any Character(s) – “The zombie ate my homework is not a good enough excuse.”</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Trip

**Author's Note:**

> [set post season 3a]

 

Body fluids rain down, on the ground, on Isaac, on Scott's new shoes. What began with a surprised yelp ends with silence and a few bruises that are already beginning to fade.

Isaac exhales slowly until his lungs threaten to implode. When a shaky hand is offered, he takes it, but not for leverage. A sharp pull yanks Scott forward; the soggy ground provides comfort. He seems to agree, for he doesn't protest, flops down beside Isaac, flat on his back. Isaac copies the posture.

“What in all hell was this?” Scott asks.

The rising moon looks like a warning sign. Isaac closes his eyes. _Zombies,_ he thinks, the word almost rolling over his tongue. _Great._ A copper stench hangs over the clearing, decay mixed with the adrenaline of fight—and fear. Of all creatures to encounter, the flesh-eating undead are his least favorite. Not for their abilities—although they proved unexpectedly agile—but because of a silly film that, featuring neither apocalypse nor gore, left eight-year-old Isaac terrified for weeks. Horror and suspense, he learned that night, aren't for him.

He frowns the paradox away. Werewolf or not, it's his right as a teenager to freak out at some events. To almost end up zombie dinner certainly is one of them. He can still feel the iron grip on his ankle, see rotten teeth snapping at his throat. If not for Scott . . . it's embarrassing how useless Isaac was in this fight. Like a crybaby, almost. Like some random, helpless human being. Self-contempt knots his stomach, won't go away, even when Scott's fingers ghost over his own.

“I hate biology.” Isaac wipes blood and brain matter from his face. If he thought collecting all those insects today was disgusting, he was seriously mistaken. _Understatement of the year._

Scott snickers—“Field trip gone wrong.”—but his heartbeat betrays his amusement.

“Hey.” Isaac turns to him. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. You?”

“Sure.” The word comes firmly, but Isaac doesn't know. It might be he was bit. Again. Laughter rasps over his lips. “Define ‘all right,’ I guess.”

“You're alive.”

“So are you.”

They have to leave. Really do. They need a shower and organize a pack meeting, in either order. Whatever the cause for the attack, it's safe to assume this was only the beginning of a downward spiral; the pack never runs into isolated incidences. Never. Complicated chains of revenge, destruction and pain haunt them, and, frankly, Isaac's had enough. He longs for rest. For teenage normalcy. If only for a few weeks.

“Night falls,” Scott says.

Isaac snorts.

“Fast.”

Scott sits up, eyes fixed on his friend. “Don't know about you, but I'm not waiting around until more of them return.”

“They will, though. Right?”

Distorted human howls answer in Scott's stead. The wolf hearing can't tell distance or number, nor whether they will approach, but the likelihood is enough to make Isaac move.

The clearing resembles a battlefield. Bodies, intact and in parts, are scattered around. Across from him, half a torso leans against an oak tree. The other half has fallen over. The head lies a few feet away. _Looks like some werewolves had fun ripping zombies to shreds._ The thought tastes bitter.

“Need my stuff,” Isaac says through gritted teeth, unaware that Scott is already searching the area. A headache flares up, but God, he can't allow that now. If he couldn't handle to kill one of those . . . things . . . properly, then he must at least be brave enough to retrieve his belongings from the scene without crumbling.

When he spots his backpack serving as a zombie pillow, he staggers forward with feeble legs. His shoes make ugly wet sounds on the sloshy ground. Squatting down an arm's length away—just to be on the safe side—he pulls at the bag. It doesn't yield. What must be the zombie's hair is tangled in the straps, and the tug cracks a cervical vertebra. Isaac feels a lot like screaming; it's all so disturbing. Unwilling to touch the creature, he pulls again, harder. For a reward, he receives his backpack and the shiny trophy of a bloody zombie-head on strings. His stomach turns violently. He drops the bundle, wants to drop too—unconscious would suffice, but he'll take dead if that's the only option.

Hysterical laughter burns his throat. He isn't sure if it will come out by itself or along with his dinner, so he swallows the bile back down best he can. His hands fumble with the knots, but he doesn't look, fixates on a majestic, blood-splattered fern nearby. Sure, he could just use brute force, but up close, he recognized the face, and he can't possibly do her any more harm. It's heart-spiking enough as it is.

Scott approaches and squats down beside him. “I couldn't find any of the samples. Sorry, dude.”

When Isaac swallows again, he tastes disappointment. “I could use some help here,” he says just as Scott softly brushes his trembling hands away. A few quick twists and tugs, and the backpack is free.

“I knew her,” Isaac blurts when he means to say 'Thank you,' or 'I'm sorry,' or maybe something meaningful like 'You saved my life tonight,' to which Scott would reply, 'Not just tonight.' They'd laugh about it, go home, and maybe find comfort. But Isaac ruins it. Like he always does.

“Me too,” Scott replies. His eyes glow red as he settles his gaze on the dead woman. “She was very sweet. I loved her readings.”

So did Isaac. He remembers how her round cheeks would flush with excitement about even the simplest of stories. How he and the others hung on her every word as she brought to life knights and princesses, dragons and trolls, witches and hunters, all of them unique, even if she told their story for the umpteenth time.

Now she's lying in the dirt, eyes wide open, teeth bared, no humanity left about her features. Not to forget she was decapitated because Isaac just can't do shit right. For a split second, he wants to punch his anger into her face, but Scott nudges him, pulls him up, and the Alpha’s guidance calms him instantaneously. When he steps back, his jaw is tight.

“I'm sorry I freaked out,” he says meekly. “I guess I'm a coward.”

“Nah. You just found your kryptonite.”

Isaac disagrees. Zombies aren't kryptonite. They're childish fears, well flaunted by the industry. They're scary, yes. Rotten and reeking and disgustingly brain-dead. But they once were human beings with dreams and hopes and people who loved them, and that's the real horror: that someone might be out there re-animating the dead, stealing the remainder of their dignity. Like in that one movie he saw as a child.

Determination replaces exhaustion. “We've got to stop this,” Isaac says firmly. “Whatever it is—we can't let it keep happening.”

“We won't,” Scott agrees. “I promise.” He tosses Isaac the backpack. “But you have other problems to solve first.”

“Like?”

“Like Lydia?”

Isaac shrugs. “Blame the zombies.”

“Good luck selling her that.”

~ ~ ~

“Who did what?” Lydia asks sharply, adapting that certain disapproving look of hers that makes people crumble. Only that Isaac doesn't; he's somewhat prepared.

“You heard me,” he replies, taking a tentative bite from his burger. His stomach still revolts a little. The fries might be a better option. At least they don't smell of blood. Not to mention they were never alive. “Hey, you think I could be a veggie werewolf?”

“You—what? Scott?” Lydia shifts her focus, losing her countenance for one moment. “What the hell is this?”

“I don't—I don't know. Cheeseburger?”

Isaac snickers at the Innocent Puppy look Scott displays. He nods confirmation, taking another small bite.

“Okay.” Lydia crosses her arms in front of her chest. “When you're done behaving like toddlers, would you mind—” she glares at Isaac, “—giving me the samples so I can do my part of the work?”

“Lydia, I don't have them. I told you.”

“You said 'zombies ate them?'”

“Indeed.”

“Since when are bugs on a zombie diet?”

Shoving a hand full of fries into his mouth, Isaac looks from Scott to Lydia and back. He shrugs, mumbling something unintelligible around his food.

“I thought so.” She leans forward, intruding his personal space so he shifts uncomfortably. The scent of her shampoo tickles his nose. “Next time, Lahey, make sure you're on their menu, too, because if I fail this class, you will wish yourself dead.”

Lydia's gone before Isaac can reply, leaving him to swallow more than fried potatoes. She may not be as intimidating as a zombie horde (or a druid gone crazy, or an Alpha pack in bloodlust), but she certainly makes her point clear.

“Told you,” Scott says when she's out of earshot. “You should've come up with a better excuse.”

“I'm not a liar, Scott.”

“Naw. You're just an idiot sometimes.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Scott's grin is as contagious as it is suggestive.

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for the **Zombie Fest 2013 Bonus Round**.  
>  I'm not quite sure what happened here, lol.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
